I told Miss Reader
that I loved to write
endless verse,
spill loving words
in torrents.
And she looked at me
and smiled and said,
"Don't fight me Dear Poet,
never fear my darling,
just hurry up and feed me,
I have a huge appetite
for sound prose!"
And wouldn't you know it,
she was right.
She swallowed
every single row,
every single line
I dropped on her
curling her toes.

Sunlight,
sweet beautiful sunlight,
glistening off
the voracious seas,
whose continuous waves
lick,
lick,
lick the shoreline
begging for more,
always
begging for more.

There are no words
to describe the beauty
of your delicious-kisses.

I can only write about
how much I miss them,
I really do.

And who doesn't burn,
burn on a bed of loneliness,

I feel the spark you bring,
deep down at my very core.
And sometimes I lay breathless,
lay breathless in sweat,
listening to hear you
opening the door
& you never come
like I do.

And who doesn't burn,
burn on a bed of loneliness.

You had them,
wore them like a festival
tiptoeing through
the roses of my mind
and the rush
of a running stream
overtook me.

I was awash
in your dreams,
screaming
for our deliverance.

O the tinkling,
the shrillness girl.....yes,
your bells,
your whistle,
this romance!

I’ve often wondered
what my associates would
think if I went completely off the graph.
I mean, like if I went into the workplace,
knocked on the boss’s door
& cold cocked his fat ugly face,
sat down at his oaken desk,
kicked my feet up,
lit up a cigarette &
told Becky to get her nice ***
in gear for some dictation.
Wouldn’t that
throw my
stuffy-shirt mates
for loop.
I’d be the biggest scoop
in the company paper,
“Jonny Goes Nuts in Sector B!”

So, is it madness that causes us to swirl our dreams on parchment?
Do we spill ink-drop-angst, our personal-blood for mass ridicule?

Are we broken-lovers seeking an analysis of the heart?
Are we deeper, less topical than mere words, these scribblings?
Are we ******-scientists contemplating confusion of the human mind?

For to find such answers is to know thyself &
to know thyself makes all the difference in the world.

But, do we ever truly know ourselves?
That my friends, is the biggest question of all &
certainly, the mystery!

I'm driven, driven by invisible forces,
voices screaming for a deliverance,
they evolve deep inside my head,
creeping around inside me like mist,
and yet I insist I am sane,
as sane as any other man or women
who knows of such things,
writing abundantly,
giving birth to madness
in words.

The beat seemed toxic,
rapidly jumping
alcohol-fueled beings
with shellacked hair,
bouncing off the walls
under the spinning disco ball.
But it wasn't disco,
they had moved onto industrial,
trying to make sense
of the wasteland outside,
the wasteland
they called home.

Though he had tried his best,
the weight of his shiny armor
was more than he could bear.

So he traded his suit in
for a new wardrobe
of black metal.

After six goblets,
the taste of Merlot
actually tastes like Beaujolais.
Unless of course
you're an expert
on wineolgy
& I'm not.
But I do like a glass or seven
every now and then.
The lights look weird now,
peoples eyes are amplified
& they are smoking abundantly.
Sadly, the only fresh air
around here
is six blocks away
in a roundabout
& I ain't crawling that far
to breathe
or even try to clear my head.
So I think
I'll keep my lonely-self
sitting right here at this quaint bar
and order me a glass of Chablis
that will probably taste like Merlot.
Sophie don't look too bad.

She thought it was
the *** that turned me on
& left me emptyhanded.

But I guess she thought
she wasn't good enough too.
If she only knew
it was her mind that
made my motor run,
then perhaps, she
would have stayed.

Making love was
just the bonus
between us.

Sunlight
cut the blinds,
a switchblade-mimic
stabbing me,
where on the floor,
I lay,
barely asleep
with ***** breath.
I remember
the clock on the wall,
it read three.
A pet monkey on a leash
was dancing a jig
& a naked lady
was sprawled out
spread eagle
on the kitchen table.
It was surreal,
I swear
she may have looked young
but I know she was legal.
Then again,
the hallucinogenic effect
of whatever I was on,
may have distorted my vision.
I crawled to the door,
fully clothed,
found my key
& made it
back across the border
before the local law and order
sought a bribe.

I'm going to stop today,
stop crafting,
trying to connect the dots
between heaven & hell.
For there is no comfort,
no comfort in finding
answers to the inexplicable.
Mountains exist for a reason.

A circadian rhythm breaths endlessly
throughout the sacred heavens,
ancient wavelengths of beauty.

Infinite spirals of cosmic-dust-tentacles
spin off into the brightest stars,
undulating into complex-patterns
& they never sleep.

They sing in vibrant tones,
fluctuating in their brilliance,
sending secret messages
to the weary sojourner,
who sees their twinkling
& understands her meaning.

Bundled up in a down vest &
wearing my monogramed knit cap,
the dog with the bee on his tail
spoke clairvoyantly to me,
revealed the great mystery
about written words
and how they can
only heal so much,
whispering
enough is enough,
sooner or later,
it'll be time to collect
more broken toys,
most certainly
you are not mad,
you're just
trying to resurrect ghosts
& find my wind-up key.

She was born a real go-getter,
gorgeous,
amazement spewed from her eyes,
open to whims,
she gave everybody a peek inside
& what did they do
but scoff her,
used her
again & again,
they washed away their sins
& she,
left out in the cold,
lost all hope,
her flicker faded
& she became part
of the brutal
jaded-world
that offers
no consolation
to worn-out beauty.

Western skies call me
I watch the sun sinking low
Soon, comfort is mine

Sooner or later
it seems,
one by one,
we receive the call
to come home
& if we knew the reason(s),
what was coming our way,
would we answer
the calling,
or just let it ring
for an eternity.

There is a splinter of rose
on the eastern shore
& I listen
to the ****** man
giving a report.
Crickets tone down
their symphony
in a dripping dew.
Somewhere in the distance
canines howl
a medley,
telling us
a new day is coming,
all is well.

I am in love with
the trickle down theory.
So go ahead
& be fickle sweetheart,
tickle the inside of my throat
with your truth serum
& see if we are truly soul mates.

By the way,
in case you didn't notice,
there are fireworks exploding
just outside in the street.
It's a celebration.
I think somebody was released
from solitary
& it wasn't me.

I dreamt last night,
sometime in the wee hours,
about cherry marmalade.
How I'd like
to have had it
spread all over my face,
from chin to forehead,
covering both of my lips.
When I suddenly awoke
breathless,
I thought  how'd I've used
my tongue and fingers
to get every last
tasty morsel
of a dessert like that,
even in my dreams.

It's always
the end of the world
with you,
there's never
any middle ground,
concessions are unknown,
as if the chickens
flew the coop
for the last time &
aren't coming back
to feed the foxes
in your hen house.

I wake up alone
feeling intimate thoughts
& I fall asleep alone
feeling intimate thoughts
& everything in between
seems lonely
& lacks intimacy.

I wandered
along the mountain path,
high above the lake,
watching the morning star
slowly rise
through the mist,
embarking
on another fine day,
it was glorious.

A warm vapor
synchronized my breathing,
it was surreal, me
hiking light years away,
on another planet
when brother & sister
strolled along,
two working-ghosts,
their huge-baskets
brimming full of beans.

Barefoot,
they passed quickly by
with only a grin & a nod,
disappearing behind me,
back into the clouds
floating above Atitlan.
It warmed my soul.

Blustery winds sing
through the naked oaks
& an icy chill chokes me,
reminding me
winter
is not giving up,
its hold is brutal,
unforgiving
with its cold,
solemn song.

Don't put all your coins in one basket,
they'll break you.

Your beautuful words
seep deep into my mind,
they touch my raw nerves
at the core level,
where my electrons spin circles
around my nuclei.

I can't keep my mind off of you.
I imagine us in all situations,
bouncing our atoms
off of each other,
mixing our chemistries,
solving sensual-mysteries
with the collision of our hearts.

Words drop
like leaves,
reflecting
the beautiful hues of autumn
& soon,
soon all you will hear
is the icy winds of winter,
blowing through the bare trees.

Everyday I crank into battle,
pedal my knobby-spaceship
to somewhere else.
I'm really nobody special,
just another universal-soldier,
a lover of rock and roll,
a fellow sojourner.

Achilles Last Stand
blasts through
my skull candy
in raw-melody.
I jump curbs,
hop ravines,
resurrecting the
meaning of clairvoyance.

I read her calling,
a true woman-child
crying for faith,
she masked her pain
with self-doubt,
swallowed anger,
hexed by *** & drugs
& lots of alcohol,
temporal killing pain-relief,
death-elixirs from liars.

And in my boldness,
my love for her indomitable spirit,
I shout to her,
telepathically send her
an important sincere message,
"Pick yourself up fighter,
cleanse your bloodied knees,
cloak yourself in flower-maille,
love yourself first
for protection
from you adversaries
(and there are many).
Carry the shield of courage
to blind the dark-world
with the next coming,
the coming of your own sun,
shine sister shine!"

The computer-age takes us to places
at supersonic speeds
faster than light.

We fight the surges,
create the urges to connect
at speeds much slower.

So seductive,
it's all so very overwhelming,
this social-networking without touch
drives most of us crazy,
especially if your tactile.

You make me smile
cyber lover.
Too bad I can't touch your lips to kiss......for real.

I insist,
I write best
when my heart's broken
and I'm sitting here
on my throne
contemplating
my next move.

We once wore tie dyes,
smoked herbage,
all styles, all kinds,
it blew our minds.

Swirls & waves,
Colombian & Mexican,
a little bit of Thai,
the stick.

We were walking
kaleidoscopes,
amateur-gurus,
electric experts,
explosive flames,
so vibrant,
so vivid,
energetic & dreamy.

And when coupled
with some Zeppelin,
the Stones or Geils,
we were
the
coolest humans on Earth.

I cannot really it explain,
but I can give it
one helluva try.
It's a million (or more)
fuschia-pumpers,
the spilling of hemoglobin
& red corpuscles,
broken bones
bleached white,
lying in the sun.
And streams of blue
tumbling from
the duct-factory
& the silent
green fields.

Drawn in
with the largest shrimp,
she hooked him,
that tough old grouper
swam outside his rocky lair,
was so willing to lick his chops
on her tasty hook.

She pulled him up
struggling from the depths
& after just one look,
threw him right into the cooler,
iced him along with the other fish
that fell for her tantalizing bait.

O sweet miss,
you
kiss me
with your fiery words,
construct sensuous-stanzas
that make me sweat,
think you're so,
so,
so
burning hot.

But even cold air
can make my ******* *****,
make me shiver & shake,
feel frozen like ice.

So darling,
get down & *****,
inject somthing really nice,
deliver the sauce,
scribe me
some more sensuality,
unload on me.

Show me sunshine,
what you've really got,
pen me something
that'll make me bake,
quiver & explode,
quake the Earth
beneath
my frigid feet!

I watched two of them
divebomb
the old bird
once
and chuckled
at how miffed
the buzzard got.
All it could do
was hold its wings up,
as if saying,
"Alright then,
you got me!"

Let loose
from the asylum,
he ran his tongue
across the pane,
while the patrons ate
with open mouths,
their jaws dropped
in bewilderment.

Stunned,
he licked away
his pain
with
a captive audience.

And when they
carted him away,
many wondered
if he was really crazy,
or just,
a practical joker.

There were some days
we just said **** it,
we want red corpuscles.
Those were the times
that scared me the most,
I mean anything could happen.
Thank God
for my buddies.
I mean,
this was war
& we had
the weaponry
to do serious damage.
We did.
I saw ****.
Crazy ****.
The crazy ****
often associated
with armed conflict.

O how vividly
I remember
that cold
dreary
autumn-night,
for she
had toiled endlessly
to infuse
a spark of life
into my lifeless form
below her
& when
she rose above me,
parting
her
reddened
sweet
soft flesh
to taste our serum,
I came alive
& breathed
hot breath
for her toil,
yellow eyes flickering.

Harvest moon is smiling,
casting its magical beam
down upon the oaks,
where the crickets
sing ancient melodies,
worshiping the night.

The crowd of unknown souls
did not deter you.
I couldn’t take my
eyes off of you
as you floated
delicately on angels feet
to be by my side & so it is,
those times ended, but
not the sweet-memory
of that one day
you floated
to greet me through
the crowd of unknown souls.

The ground rumbles
under the weight of steel,
churning relentlessly
onward through the pitch
as the lone whistle
trails into the night,
echoing loneliness.

I lie awake contemplating
how the conductor looks crying
so early in the morning,
twisting down the tracks
keeping insomniacs awake
with his constant
rolling thunder.

And I bet with myself
the rushing wind
cools his tears.

I was encapsulated,
pressurized,
orbiting endlessly
through circadian-days
blending into starless-nights
eternal.

I wanted
to see the rings,
to feel the sacred-dust
on my face &
left the comforts,
only to be locked out,
forever wandering
in the asteroid belt.

The attraction is real,
sublime,
it builds to a crescendo
awash in ultimate-passions,
we bathe in each others sweat,
breathless in our lost dreams,
wondering about hope,
then we disappear
into
loathing,
the dark place,
a self-made abyss
where
nobody,
nobody ever comes,
where we cease to exist,
'till somebody kisses us again
with the same fire
we hide deep,
deep in our aching hearts,
the one that yearns for true love,
wishing it would
find us
unbroken.

I told that boy they'd be the death of him.
Told him time and time again to give them up.
I did it for his own good,
but he just laughed at me,
told me to mind
my own  
******* business.
Well, they found him the next morning,
he was missing half of his head.
I mean his skull was shot wide open.
There were pieces of his brain
lying at his feet.
His Zippo was covered
with organic matter
& his Marlboro
missing one,
maybe two drags.
Jesus, I wished he
would have listened,
he was such a great kid.

It has taken me forever,
forever to realize
these things,
these seductive mysteries,
these succulent sweet visions
are screaming,
swirling around
in my tortured brain
& rising up
from the darkest depths
of love.

And when I piece them together
in jumbled stanzas,
filled
with expressions
of my personal demons,
I am drawn
into even greater fantasies.

Are any of us really rational?
I believe it...to be true.

Floating endlessly
on fluid dreams,
we do
contemplate
every loving act.
We make all
the necessary adjustments
for maximum enjoyment,
that pleasurable
existence
reached
near the sunspots of nirvana.
In that fiery state-of-mind,
we perform
magical solutions
for the escape
into those nether regions,
that place you refer to as
the darker side of Venus.
And there,
screaming for more,
the two of us
find deliverance.

Some days I feel,
others I don't.
It's the days I don't
that scare me the most.

Unless I stop
soon,
I insist
poetry will be
the death of me.

But O Sweet Darling,
my pretty jubilee,
look,
just look
at that wonderful
moon.

I'm sick,
I'm dying
here
with glee.

See me...
read me...

quick.